Siren of dystopia
The tentacles of the night penetrated deep into all the devices of this almost rotten city. There was nothing but vices breathing in the veins of this city. I am the unfortunate product of the swamp that this city breeds. I was conceived into the chasm of this deep infinite swamp, and though it should have gorged me, I learnt to thrive, I trained myself to fight this nocuous grip, which was strewn with thorn and pricks, and despite it, it was the strongest call. I learnt that every capsule of oxygen has to be earned as ones survival is ones own responsibility, that nobody would help, and nobody cares. And the principle that was etched on each lip was that power rules, the strong rules and others just charr to dust.
This night or I would recall that every night was a fight for survival. This city throbbed ferociously in its underworld businesses. The tourist turned to this city for ecstasy and for the sheer pleasure of their bodies. And like all nights that night was not very different. Darkness of the night was at its brightest. And I was in the bar, pole dancing and stripping, that was when the siren penetrated through the blood vessels of this city. This siren was not just any siren, but it was the siren of an oblivious destiny.
